Selenophobia
by The Spectrum Sings
Summary: —fear of the moon. Remus Lupin, the boy with the name that could have been nothing but a cruel joke by Fate, watches the crescent moon dipping into the ocean. Alone or not, he is afraid, with the whole night of loud silence to listen to his wondering.


The moon controls me as it controls the ocean. I am a tide, dragged and shoved, urged and forced in the pattern the moon grasps. It embraces me in its clasp and moulds me to the shape of water. And in the middle of the night, I see the etched shadows of forgotten books, forgotten lives, forgotten stardust, tossed into corners, collecting dust of a different kind. Not the dust of a thousand sparkling stars but the dust of something unwanted, unloved, and unused. I look out the high, wide window and see the soft, pale, pastel navy sky crying inky blue tears into the ocean. The ocean and sky seem as if they are right beside me, holding my hands in theirs, whispering sweet nothings. But I will not be comforted by their lies. The silhouettes of every nook and cranny around me whisper and beckon, the silence of the night is alive, I am alive, the moon is alive. In the silence, I hear more than the dull pulse of the Earth. Sirius's breathing lulls me, James sleepy mutterings grace smiles on my lips, and Peter's deep, occasional snore greets me in the night to tell me I am not alone. There is a humming in my heart and a yearning in my head. Alone or not, I am afraid.

The wind carried memories I want to snatch for myself and memories I want to forget and burn. I want to return to my bed and sleep. But the pile of regrets lingers over my heart and instead I stay seated. The window seat is warmer than my bed will ever feel while I lie alone. I consider climbing into Sirius's mess of covers, blankets and pillows, laying my head against his shoulder and breathing the same air. I consider placing a small kiss to his neck, to his cheek, letting the warmth of the moment wash over us. I wonder what he would say if he woke up and saw me. Seeing my curled on the window ledge, eyes fixed on the moon, would worry him. Seeing me coiled beside him would worry him more. Waking up with someone in your bed, not remembering, not knowing, it must be strange. But then, do I truly want to kiss Sirius, or am I just lonely? It is unsettling to think I would be with someone just because I am lonely. Could I be that cruel? Could I create a whole relationship on lies, on whispered "I love you"s that truly mean nothing? I wouldn't be lonely and I would be loved but I would be a disgusting human being. I am lonely but what I feel for Sirius is no lie. I would not throw the trap of a lie in front of us when there is so much _more _to worry about, to consider, than whether the love that surrounds us is true. Love being true should be a given.

I feel like a ringlet, curled this way. I feel like a wave, waiting to escape with the tide.

It would have made so much more sense for Sirius to wake up and for him to whisper sweet words to me, for him to tell me to ignore the taunting crescent of silver bobbing above the waves. But Sirius sleeps on and James stirs. He yawns and fidgets and murmurs ever so lightly "Lily?"

I have never and could never doubt his love for her. His eyes seek me out, the dark shadow sitting in front of the moonlight, trapped in the moonbeam.

"Remus, it's like... four in the morning." He yawns in the middle of his sentence, his eyes heavy with sleep. "What are you doing?" His voice is thick and blurred, but as quiet as he can make it. James steals a glance at the snoring Peter, smiling fondly at the ragged teddy grasped in the chubby hand.

"I'm wandering." I answer. James nods. This is an acceptable answer and much more easy to deal with than "I want to die" or "It's the full moon soon, always soon" or "I think I might be in love."

"Hang on." James says, digging around under his covers. He pulls out a battered book. "Shakespeare, right? He's as boring as hell, always helps me sleep. But don't tell Lily I think he's boring." He adds quickly, skilfully tossing me the book. I catch it, fumbling not to drop the hardback onto the wooden floor. "I plan on quoting him in our wedding vows. I want to make her happy." He yawns again.

"Go to sleep, Prongs." I smile slightly.

"You too, Remus." James tells me.

"Shut up, both of you. I'm sleeping." Peter mutters.

Life seems to flutter. A few chuckles are exchanged, and Sirius does not wake as James and Peter drown back into sleep. I can't help but to imagine the astronomy of Sirius Black. If he's hurt, would the universe pour itself from him? Beautiful coloured dust, stars and atoms, melting onto the floor. And if he sang, would constellations dance to please him? A man of his inner-beauty: was he born of a gaseous flame? But it is his outer-beauty that gets him noticed and what does that do to the sun in his heart? There is a galaxy between his ribs that I have yet to discover. He is a mystery, as a star has yet to be mine. He is my constellation, rising next to the half moon. Together the moon and the stars are linked. They are a ringlet of beauty, a wave of perfection. The controller of the wolf and the heart of the dog crossed in the stars.


End file.
